


born for this

by odinsvnthor



Series: Homecoming Series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asgard, F/M, Family Feud - Freeform, Language of Flowers, Messing with Fate, Orphaned, Poetic loss, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slow Build, fucking shit up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odinsvnthor/pseuds/odinsvnthor
Summary: thor odinson has spent nearly a thousand years searching all over the cosmos for his true love - only for her to be ripped away from him. again, and again, and again. it seems no matter how hard he tries, no matter their circumstances, his beloved meets an untimely and unfortunate end. what happens when thor decides to take matters in to his own hands to ensure that she lives this time? are they still destined for their happily ever after?





	1. prologue;

It's true, what they say. That in the moment before you die, everything in your life flashes before your eyes. Fast moving pictures with no real beginning or end. Just a repeating cycle displayed before you. And as you're forced to watch the events of your life fly past you, you come to terms with what's waiting on the other side. No matter how terrified you feel, no matter how much you'd have hoped to evade it, this is your destiny and there's no stopping it now.

She should have never turned the car around.

It was a Friday, just after ten at night. Lysandra and her sister, Lola, were heading home from downtown after a late night at the shoppe. Lysandra sat behind the drivers wheel, Lola next to her, legs crossed and cigarette in hand. Willa, their german shepherd, laid in the backseat, her tail thumping against the material rhythmically in tune with the windshield wipers. Lys tried to keep up with her sister's typical babble, the words tumbling past her lips a mile a minute, just barely getting through the text messages she had received from her ex-boyfriend before she realized that she had left the doors to the shoppe unlocked.

"What are you doing?" Lola questioned accusingly, flicking the remainder of her cigarette out of her window quickly to keep the plummeting rain from seeping inside.

"I left the shoppe unlocked," Lysandra replied grimly, looking up in the rearview mirror to meet Willa's large brown orbs and dopey smile. "It's a seven minute detour, Lola. I'm sure you'll suffice." She scoffed, noting her sister's notorious pout. She was already keeping her from her afternoon soap operas by hiring her on full time at the shoppe; not that Lola minded the extra cash. But sometimes, busy afternoons turned into late nights, especially when large unexpected orders came in.

And by chance, a handsome gentleman with sharp features and long, dark hair wandered into the shoppe looking for someone willing to help him with getting a rather large order of donuts for his brother's birthday. "My brother loves many things," the man mused with a smile, hands folded neatly on top of the counter, "Women, primarily. Well, one woman, technically, but he loves donuts nearly as much. And I figure, if he can't have the woman he loves, might as well fill him with sweets.."

He had been great company, and was considerably patient given that he needed his batch before the shoppe closed. It took them nearly an entire afternoon and evening to finish the three dozen batches he had requested; he apologized for the trouble, and left a rather large tip at his table when he left for the night.

A crack of lightning rolled over the hills of the street, illuminating the slick road, shortly followed by a thunderous roar. Something otherworldly, and earth shattering. The sound so harsh in it's bellow, the metal of the car vibrated. The rain, now mercilessly pouring, made it harder to see what was in front of her clearly. She squinted against the dark, hoping to keep her windshield clear by flicking the wipers on full speed. These efforts, however, seemed futile.

And in the next moment, the one where she tries to do the right thing by swerving to avoid hitting  _whatever_ had jumped out into the middle of the bridge, they were spinning. Lysandra hit the breaks, veering the vehicle off to the right and straight through the metal guard railing on the side of the bridge.

Hitting her head off the steering wheel on the way down, her consciousness fading to black. And when she reopened her eyes, she realized that the car had been submerged under the water. It took her several moments to make out any of the shapes around her, encased in an envelope of darkness. She watched in horror as the cracks in the windows begin to travel, the glass breaking down under the pressure of the water. The further they sank, the less she was able to hear the thunder above. The car, thankfully, hadn't given out on her yet, though the water was pooling up around her mid-calf by the time she also realized it was seeping in through vents.

She looked over to where Lola sat. It was hard to make out her figure in the dark, but there were two things Lysandra was absolutely certain: Lola wasn't breathing, and they were both going to die.

"Lola?" She tried, attempting to lift her right arm to reach out for her sister, but it screamed in pain during her movements. It was broken. With tears stinging her lids, she attempted to keep her right arm still and used her left hand to undo her seatbelt. Once free, she twisted her body and leaned over the console to grip the collar of Lola's jacket, " ** _Lola!_** "

 _Were we still sinking? Had we reached the bottom? How far up until the surface?_ Thousands of questions she had no answers to kept repeating themselves, over and over and over.

 _Was Lola already dead? What jumped out onto the bridge?_ Regret filled her.  _Everyone knows you don't try to swerve for an animal, dumbass._

Had it  ** _been_** an animal?

The freezing water had reached her hips before she moved; the entire right side of her frame seized up tightly, bones moving in ways they shouldn't, rubbing into each other in the least pleasant way. More bones,  _definitely_ broken. There was no way she was going to be able to get the door open, not before the window broke. It was then that she realized she was going to die, for certain, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

And even when the water finally reached a point where she could no longer hold her head above it, she let her eyes close and wrapped her fingers tightly around Lola's. She wasn't there anymore. There was no reaction, no gentle squeeze in return.

The water enveloped Lysandra, rocking her back and forth freely. The longer she kept her mouth clamped shut, the more her lungs began to burn.

But she needed air. Even though she knew none existed in the confinements of the car, even though she knew air was only available above the surface, she drew in a large gaping breath, filling her lungs with the dirty water.

A light so blinding came down through her vision, even through her closed lids, and she knew she was being called home.

 

 

The first dive into any pool was always considerably the best. The one where your stomach flips in anticipation, the one where you hit the surface and drench your skin. And once you're underneath, your body feels lighter than air itself. Your limbs move slowly, cutting through the liquid in your efforts to swim from one destination to the next.

When you're a child, and you have all the time in the world, this journey seems easy, entirely fun.

When you're on the brink of losing the one person destined to love you for eternity, the one perfectly crafted for your soul; the one that brings fire to your veins and calms all of your storms, you can't quite seem to move quick enough.

When his body hit the surface and submerged him deep within the murky depths of the river, that's exactly how Thor felt. His limbs moved desperately, seeing the car nestled amongst the rocks, but they weren't bringing him any closer. Though he can't see her figure clearly, he knows she's there. That undeniable pull, that heat, that ringing in his ear only seemed to become more profound the closer he drew near her --

And yet, it were as though the currents worked against him. Thrashing his legs this way and that, as though the element was insistent to keep him from reaching her. From saving her.

Not again.

His mind raced wildly, calculating his odds, attempting to formulate some plan that worked this time. He refused to lose her. He had Heimdall watch her get through her mortal life so miserably these last few years, and although Thor promised he would never intrude in effort to spare her in this lifetime, he worried he'd lose her to something far more sinister than a mere accident. But the results were all the same. Regardless of how she went, he knew he'd feel nothing absolute anguish. She was his to protect, after all. But he had been too preoccupied lately with his personal mission to find the Infinity Stones; but instead, he found nothing but chaos and destruction across the cosmos.

Losing another three minutes of time, he finally reached the drivers side door and ripped the metal from its hinges, happy to see she had already taken her seatbelt off. Thor hoped that meant she had a will to live, that she hadn't wanted to die, and perhaps even tried to save herself.

He scooped his arm under her legs and around her waist to pull her into his chest. Feet planted firmly on the floor beneath him, he pushed off with all of the force he could muster; then, returned to retrieve the other woman in the vehicle, one part out of duty, one part because she held great importance to his love.

Laying them both against the grass carefully, he knelt next to Lysandra's motionless frame and righted her head, stroking his thumb across the skin of her cheek tenderly. "Oh, my lady," he croaked wearily, unable to keep the despair from his voice, "We mustn't keep meeting like this."

He called for Steve, several times. Demandingly. Desperately. His voice harsh and words rushed, Steve not quite understanding what was going on but knowing that the God wouldn't have resorted to calling him if it weren't an emergency; regrettably leaving the comfort of his hiding hole.

And Thor waited. His eyes never leaving her face, drinking in the features of her in this lifetime, preparing to say goodbye to another reincarnation of the soul he was crafted to love. Though he couldn't see her warm amber hues, he knew they were swimming pools of molten lava behind her closed lids. Her skin was clear, appearing to be translucent under the moons lighting, but he decided it looked more like cream. Her hair lay matted against the sides of her neck and head, curling around her shoulders like seaweed.

She was beautiful.

She was always beautiful, and perhaps that's what pained him the most. Not that he lost what was said to be his true love, once again, but that a woman of such beauty and grandiose personality should meet such an untimely end so soon.

 

_I grant for thou who rests on rocks and grass,_  
_the breath of life bestowed upon my lips._  
_Trek from heaven's holy gates, sweet love,_  
_with this kiss come forth once more;_  
_and from death, lead thy to immortality._  
_Idunn, I call to you;  
_ _Astrarchē, return your daughter home._

 

"Thor?"

He didn't dare lift his eyes from her face, mind willing her to just  _breathe_ , screaming out for her heart to just  ** _beat_**. With his arms encased around her frame, infusing her body with the lightning uncontrollably crashing around them, he leaned forward and sealed his lips over hers, praying to the  _Gods_ that this worked; he knew he had never been very good at keeping control of his emotions. Being a God made for a long life, capable of reaching self actuality, never growing old, rarely in fear of losing those closest to him --

So it's safe to say that loss is not something Thor is accustomed to. And it appears as though this particular loss never gets any easier. 


	2. unexpected delivery

“Welcome to Lola’s!” Maggie’s voice filtered in through the window, filling the empty space in my quiet station in the back room, her greeting cheery and bright. It matched the new interior decor of the shoppe, giving customers an overall friendlier experience, which really seemed to help bring more of a boom back to the business. I replaced the worn-out white walls with a paint that was vibrant in colour, updating the trim to something a little more modern, and swapped out the uncomfortable tables and chairs with soft booths instead. The only reminder of my family's past that remained was the framed photograph of my great-grandfather and Captain America; as it turns out, the star-spangled soldier has always had a hankering for donuts. 

The donut shoppe had been in my family for years, dating back as early as 1922. And it had been passed down, generation to generation. When my father died, and the dust from the trauma following his loss had settled, we had come to find that the shoppe had been left for my sister and I. With no mother to take over, and no siblings of his own, he had completely entrusted his two daughters to run and maintain the family business. 

That was a mistake.

Lola had never been one to believe in the magic of desserts. She always hated the smell of the shoppe growing up, complained that it was ‘too sweet’ and decided by the age of twelve that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the robin egg blue apron. Of course, after the passing of our father, she stepped in from time to time to ensure things like the books were kept balanced, and helped me with inventory. That sort of work. It wasn’t until her relationship with Michael went south that she asked if I had a spot available for her to fill her free time, and keep her preoccupied. 

When my sister died, and the shoppe was left up to me, things changed. Business, much like my will to live, had dropped severely after her passing. I spent too many nights holding myself accountable for her death, spiraling face first into a rabbit hole of addiction and pain, nursing bottles hoping to find the cure for my misery at the bottom. 

It was Sam who had found me at The Fly, half a bottle of whiskey deep. I suppose after watching me stumble home blindly drunk for weeks on end, he had decided to take it upon himself to escort me home after the bar closed each night. After all, he felt it was the least he could do as my neighbour. He hardly drank with me, mostly just showed up just after last call had been announced, and would wait patiently until I was willing to abandon my perch. 

He was also the reason for the woman standing behind the register. She had applied for the ongoing job opening that was tacked to the inside window of the shoppe, looking for something temporary while she settled into her life in Brooklyn. Maggie had come into town five short months ago, and although our relationship up until recently had been strictly professional, I wasn’t blind to her body language. Her voice always picked up in octave whenever he entered the room, and her work performance was never so diligent.

In an effort to play matchmaker, I may have mentioned once or twice that Sam was entitled to a discount if he brought in a friend with him. He took that offer very seriously; so I’m not surprised to find him entering the shoppe with Steve in tow. 

They popped in nearly every day after their workout, spoiling their appetites for lunch with sweet treats and shakes. I was surprised, however, to find the pair of them waving to another gentleman that carried on. His long blond hair was pulled together lazily on top of his head, blue hues striking given that they were half-hidden behind the rim of dark sunglasses. He lifted the corner of his lips in a half-smile, and I felt an eruption of butterflies set loose in my stomach, wondering if I had ever seen him before. There was something so familiar about those eyes. 

“Morning, doll.” Steve greeted cheerily, hands resting on the marble countertop. His hair was still wet with sweat, the front of his soaked tank hidden beneath the navy blue sweater I had gifted him over the holidays, but he looked like a billion bucks.

I turned my attention to the man standing on the other side of the counter, “You’re late,” my voice was teasing as I rotated the old donuts away from the fresh. “I expected you boys an hour ago.”

Sam flashed a bright smile, leaning against the counter with his wallet in hand, “We had a friend join us today, so training ran a little late.”

I looked around, making a show to look at the customers as if to search for the man in question, but knowing they were referring to the pretty blond that made me sick to my stomach. “Is this an invisible friend?” 

Steve laughed, shaking his head as the sound filled the shoppe, “His visits here are few and far between lately, he doesn’t linger if he can help it.”

I felt my brows lift to my hairline, “Must be a Brooklyn thing.” 

“You take that back,” the super soldier chided, though his features remained soft and playful as he met my eyes. “Nah, it’s not the city. And don’t worry, it’s definitely not your donuts, either. Those are delicious.” 

This time, Maggie and I shared a laugh. “I would hope you’re out there making good of my name, Cap.” I replied, though I was hardly in any position to worry. As it turned out, any friend of Sam’s was a friend of Steve’s, and I learned quickly that Steve took great pride in his friends achievements. When I closed the shoppe just over a month ago in consideration of selling the lease and walking away with a rather sizeable profit, Steve convinced me to make something of it instead. 

And after several colour swatches, and weeks of catalog browsing, it seemed as though a physical change in the scenery wasn’t enough. I needed something more. After arguing with my uncles regarding the family legacy and name, I was finally granted permission to legally change the name. 

The Lillian became Lola’s - same great donuts, new great look. 

“The usual?” Maggie intervened, looking up expectantly at Sam while he contemplated the menu, tentatively rubbing his chin. We all knew he would order the same thing, and he knew that regardless of the fact the sign said ‘sold out’ on the platter for his favourite flavour in the pastry window, there was one sitting in the back room with his name all over it. 

Turning to Steve, I waited patiently. Much like his friend, Steve had a favourite. Though he did on occasion surprise me by ordering an extra ( _ or dozen _ ) for the side. “Alright, what’ll tickle my delights this afternoon?” 

“There’s a fresh batch of old fashioned in the oven that will be done any moment now,” I offered in place, adding an extra scoop of the whey protein Sam liked into his shake. “Or, if you’re looking for something a little sweeter, the strawberry frosted popped out twenty minutes ago.” 

Steve gazed into the window, his eyes scanning each flavour, taking his time to evaluate all of the possible flavour combinations. When he stood upright, with his arms locked behind his back he nodded once with a tight-lipped smile, “I’ll take three old fashioned when they’re ready.” 

“You got it, Cap.” Maggie replied, disappearing to the back momentarily as the buzzer rang; I handed the boys their shakes, pushing the stack of colourful straws their way for their choosing. Sam wiggled his fingers, reaching for the vibrant orange, whereas his partner plucked out a simple blue hue. 

Maggie returned with one box for the pair of them, knowing they’d wander over to the corner booth to discuss … well, whatever it was they discussed. I tried not to pry into their private life, knowing that they lived in a near constant state of fear. For a while, Steve was laying low, hoping to keep himself away from Tony and the others. After everything that happened the last time the Avengers assembled, what they did to that airport, we were all pretty much under the impression that New York was left under Stark’s protection. 

The split of the Avengers had been a nation wide shock, though the opinions around it varied. Some felt that we were safer and better off without any of them; others, like myself, felt the opposite. People like Sam and Steve made Earth safe - especially with extraterrestrial beings wandering realms all over the galaxy. 

As much as it bothered Steve, he reluctantly took a personal leave. So, instead of involving himself into the politics of the world, he was living in the East end of Brooklyn ( _ for the time being, duty always called _ ). Sam moved in next door to me just over a year ago, in an effort to be closer to his companion, and we had all been inseparable ever since. 

“Thanks, Lys,” Sam takes the box from Maggie’s hands, peering into the flimsy window on the top. “Don’t forget, new episode of American idol tonight.” He looks pointedly at me, narrowing his eyes as he retreats with his snacks.

I waved him away, feeling the heat rush into my cheeks as Maggie looked sideways at me. It didn’t take a genius to know the energy radiating off her frame was tainted with jealousy; I mused my hands over my apron and turned to her, “He only likes watching for JLo. That, or he has a deep dark fantasy and is totally living vicariously through the contestants.” 

She laughed with me, risking another glance over to where the boys were seated; they were already halfway through the box of donuts, their conversation not yet started. “You spend a lot of time with him?” 

Sensing the true meaning behind her question, I shook my head in an effort to ease her nerves. “Sam and I are just friends,” I explained as I moved behind her to wipe down the coffee machines. “He helped me out a lot when Lola died, kinda kept me from completely spiraling.”

Maggie joined me on my right hand side, popping her bubble gum as she pondered whatever idea she had brewing in her mind. Then, she looked at me, “Alright. So if not Sam, perhaps the Captain is more your taste then?”

**_Shit_ ** . I lower my chin to my chest, focusing incredibly hard on cleaning the coffee stains off of the outside stainless steel whilst hoping to keep the blush from my cheeks. Every woman in American was smitten by Steven Rogers, there was absolutely no denying that. Yes, I happened to be one of those women. Ever since I was a little girl who stared up at the photo that was hung on the shoppe wall so proudly, my budding crush on the Captain was always evident growing up. By the time I was seven, we had been ‘married’. So you could imagine my excitement when I exit my house one morning and find Steve sitting with Sam on his steps, coffees in hand. 

You can bet your ass that Sam never let me live it down. 

Now Steve visited the shoppe everyday, and always apologized when he wasn’t able to make it in. Of course, I never took personal offense to his absence, knowing that he was a very busy man. 

“Oh, look at that,” Maggie breathed, dropping her voice to a whisper as she bumped into my hips with hers, “Me thinks I’m getting warmer.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned cautiously, shushing her quickly while glancing at their table, noting that they were both too preoccupied with each other to notice the two of us whispering like school girls on the other side of the counter. “Steve is also  _ just  _ a friend.” I spat hardly. When Maggie looked sideways at me again, her face full of doubt, I amended my statement, “Come on, you know damn well there’s easily another four women in here thinking the same thing I am, but it’s not like that matters. He’s Captain America, for god’s sake. Someone like him, with the likes of someone like me? I mean, look at him,”

He was tall, broad shouldered and devilishly handsome. His smile could break hearts, though I was sure he’d never allow for such a thing, being the gentleman he was. Maggie gnaws on her lip, tapping her manicured against the counter rhythmically before she let her smile slip, “I wouldn’t bet on that, boss. And don’t look now, but he’s looking right at you.” 

My head lifted instantly, but I grabbed the dry cloth next to the coffee maker and turned to wipe down the registers, even though Maggie had done an immaculate job tidying up before close the night prior. From the corner of my peripheral vision, I could see that she had been telling the truth. Steve was watching absently from his side of the booth, eyes following the movements of my hands, toying with his straw between his fingertips.

The odds of him being merely distracted were far greater than whatever my coworker was suggesting. He was a goddamn legend, and I was just a simple baker. We were both born and raised in the streets of Brooklyn, but we were likely nothing alike in any regard.

I felt I was far too selfish to be with a man with that much respectability. He was kind, sweet, and went out of his way to ensure people’s safety and happiness. 

And, well, I’ll be damned. He  _ was  _ looking right at me.

   
  
  


The following morning, as I was washing the outside windows, a large floral truck rolled to a stop on the street just outside of Lola’s; I watched as the driver came around to the back of his van, picking two large bouquets wrapped in white paper. Dropping my cloth into the soapy bucket and abandoning my post, I wiped my hands on the back of my jeans and smiled as the gentleman approached me, ‘How can I help??

“I’m looking for a … Lysandra?” 

I blinked, looking at the two dozen lavender roses he carried in his arms, then back up to him. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

The man, although short and round, didn’t appear to be as friendly as I’d imagined he might be. “Your name Lysandra?”

“Lys, yes.” I nodded.

He pushed the roses into my arms, voice gruff with his response. “Then these are for you.” 

I shook my head, pushing back slightly, “I think you’ve got the wrong place, these can’t be meant for me.” What was this? I half expected cameras to pop out of nowhere and start filming. Had to be a prank.  _ Jesus _ .

This time, he blinked. He was probably thinking the same thing I was:  _ stupid freak, just take the stupid roses. _ “Look, the guy on the phone was very specific. He wanted two dozen  _ lavender  _ roses sent to Lola’s in downtown Brooklyn,addressed to Lys.”

“What guy?” I asked, peering over the blooming bouquet to the clipboard in his arm. “Did he leave a name?” 

“There’s a pen name on the back of the card --  _ hey _ , lady, where’s my tip!” I ignored his call, retreating inside the store with the twenty four long stem roses. My eyes were glued to their vibrant colour as Maggie squealed, excitedly reaching out to examine the second bouquet with as much awe as I did. 

“Oh. My.  _ God _ . These are gorgeous!” She whined, inhaling their deep scent. “Who’re they from?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admitted with a shrug, looking between the smooth petals for the card the driver had mentioned there was. 

“You think it was Cap?” 

I looked up quickly, eyes wide, “There’s no way.” I shook my head, dismissing the idea before I could entertained it. “You’ve gotta get that idea out of your head.” 

Maggie hummed in consideration,  her eyes flickering past my frame to where the door opened behind me; I winced slightly at the sounds of their laughter, knowing that Sam and Steve had walked through the door. 

They paused behind me, the after reek of their training quickly filling the space we shared. “Beautiful flowers, Lys,” Steve commented, smiling at their glorious splendor. 

“Oh, flowers, wow,” Sam mused, fingers seeking the card I had been searching for. I tried to reach for it before he could flip it open, but was much too short to reach where he held it up. “‘To my sweet  _ Astrarchē _ ,’” he started, voice mimicking what he believed to be the senders voice, stumbling over the pronunciation. “ ‘Somewhere there is someone who dreams of your smile and finds in life your presence worthwhile. So when you are lonely, remember it’s true, I will always be that someone thinking of you. Love from Asgard ...” Sam’s voice trails as the note ends, brows pulling together in the middle as he turns to look at his friend. 

Steve’s smile doesn’t falter, though. He placed a gentle hand on the small of my back and leaned over my shoulder to inhale deeply. “Lavender roses … these must have been expensive.” 

“I hope not,” I replied quickly, worried glancing up between the two. “This is too much, I can’t accept these.” 

“I’ll take them off your hands for ya,” Maggie offered, still nose deep in the bouquet she had in her arms. 

Steve reached for the bundle, shaking his head as he returned them to me, “Nonsense. They’re for you and they’re beautiful, so take them home. Put them in your window.”  

His smile was encouraging, and he seemed insistent that I keep them, so I obliged and moved them into the back to put into a bottle with fresh water. Sam and Steve hung around the shoppe until late in the afternoon, and treated me to lunch; we split a pizza three ways, and when Steve had to bid farewell for the evening, Sam walked me back to the shoppe, his usual quick pace replaced with a leisurely stroll. 

“You got any idea who sent those?” He asked, pointing into the shoppe where Maggie busied herself with rearranging the flowers, again. 

I shook my head, leaning against the glass, “Not a single clue. I’m not even sure I know where, let alone  _ what  _ Asgard is supposed to be.” 

Sam’s brows lifted as he contemplated, “Well whoever it is, they’re definitely interested.” 

“You think?” 

He nodded, looking at me as though I was crazy, “Roses? Twenty four of them? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a declaration of love.” 

I lifted a hand through my tresses, blowing out an exhale. “I pity the fool,” I said after a few moments, dismissing their arrival as nothing more than perhaps a sick prank. Not that I had any idea of who it could be; I hadn’t been out on a date since the accident, but that was mostly because I didn’t have the time for a personal life outside of work. I had Sam, and Steve, and my shoppe. 

And if Steve hadn’t sent them, I wasn’t sure who had. 

I promised to join Sam for a drink on his front steps later, and retired into the back of the shoppe for the evening. I busied myself by thoroughly cleaning the mixers inside and out, preparing the dough for the following morning. And once the lights were out and the sign was shut off, Maggie called out a faint “goodnight” before disappearing into the darkness; I gathered my belongings, wondering how on earth I was going to get the roses home now that they were already situated inside a vase. 

I glanced down at the card placed meticulously in the midst of the waxen petals. My name was beautifully scripted into the front in gold letters. I read the message over again, finger trailing over the words, a voice inside my head screaming out for the sender. 

 

_ ‘Love from Asgard,  _

 

_ Your Mighty Prince.’ _


	3. one condition

The warmth from the sun's rays doused my face and bare shoulders, washing me clean with a fresh dose of serotonin and a surge of good will. Though it was a Saturday, I wasn’t expected in at the shoppe until Monday morning. My eyes were wide open well before my alarm, and it seemed no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find sleep again. I decided that instead of wasting my energy, I’d make the most of my day. 

Sam had been a little less enthusiastic about my energy, but luckily for me, he was without a sparring partner for the afternoon. He suggested I step in place for Steve. Periodically, I joined them, but I never thought there would come a day where I’d actually spar against either of them. I mostly joined for weight training, hoping to fill out my body in all the places I felt most insecure. 

I adjusted the sunglasses perched on my nose, hair from my swaying ponytail tickling the exposed flesh of my back as we neared the gyms entrance. I let out a huff in frustration at Sam’s rebuttal to my offer, rolling my eyes into the back of my head. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I asked, dropping my bag onto one of the worn down benches against the wall; Sam reached for my hands the same time I offered them, excitedly watching as he wrapped them in the red tape. “I don’t understand how you never make time.”

“When do you think I have time for a woman?” He asked, and this time I could tell it wasn’t rhetorical. He was being genuine. 

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. Contrary to popular belief, we didn’t spend all of our time together, so I wasn’t entirely sure what Sam did in the rest of his time. “Well, you’re home now,” I started, standing on one side of a brown punching bag whilst he wandered around to the other side once my hands were wrapped tightly. “And you haven’t been called out for a mission since the blow up between Steve and Tony.

Sam’s eyes fluttered for a moment, the memory still obviously freshly ingrained in his mind. “True. But I have morals, alright? I have standards.”

I feigned offense, fists colliding against the sides of the bag hard, “You think I don’t have standards?” 

He snorted, not an overly attractive sound, but it was a sound I had grown accustomed to. “Oh, I know you have standards,” he agreed, nodding his head quickly to show we were on the same page, “But I don’t think I’ve seen ever seen another human being walk out of your house, and we’ve been neighbours for a year. Do you even have friends? You know, outside of Steve and I.” 

I glared at the shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face, narrowly avoiding my foot in my attempt to reach his face. “I have friends,” I spat harshly, trying not to be too worried about the details on  _ who  _ exactly was included in that list of friends. Lola had been more of the socialist in our family, and with the two of us being so close in age, most of her friends were considered my friends. 

What was unfortunate to learn was that it was a mostly one sided friendship. Once she was buried six feet deep, people that once spelt endless hours in my kitchen stopped coming by. I hadn’t heard from Michael since the accident, though that might have been because he blamed me for what happened to her nearly as much as I did. 

Alright, so maybe I didn’t have many friends. Maybe I didn’t have any at all, but that was okay. I was a business owner, I was figuring my shit out. 

_ You’re only twenty-five _ , my conscience reminded me,  _ normal twenty-five year olds have lives, Lys.  _

I glanced around the bag at Sam again, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. The two friends that I did have were, respectfully, kind of old. Steve was nearing his hundredth birthday ( _ not that he was at all happy about it _ ), and Sam was somewhere in his early to mid forties. Neither seemed to care that I was considerably young, but that was perhaps part of why we worked well together. Our ages never seemed to be a factor that stood in the way of our understanding of each other. 

After twenty minutes of punching the same spot on the bag, each hit progressively falling weaker and weaker, I bent over to catch my breath. “She’s pretty,” I tried again, words falling out in between grunts and punches. “And smart, and she’s already interested in you, so it’s not like it’ll take much charming on your part to woo her.”

“To woo her?” Sam chuckled, looking up at me from under his lashes. “Who even says that anymore?”

Annoyed, I pushed the bag until he moves with it, dropping my hands in tight fists at my sides. “I’m trying to play matchmaker. Meet me halfway, Wilson.”

Sam stared back, his gaze unwavering as he considered my offer. “When?”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow?” I nodded patiently, watching closely as his eyes roamed the room, looking everywhere but at me. “And what do you propose I plan on such short notice?”

I pursed my lips tightly together. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, honestly. “How about La Nonna?” Could never go wrong with Italian, and in spite of the short notice, I knew of a few strings I could pull to get a reservation ready for two. “I know you love pasta nearly as much as I do.” 

“Hmm …” he trailed off, taking long swigs from his water bottle to quench his thirst. I followed his actions, relief swallowing me whole as the cool water cleansed the ache and burn. “La Nonna sounds good.” 

“Great,” I smiled, reaching for my phone. “I’ll set it up.” 

“One condition.” Sam bartered just as I was searching my contact list for Maggie’s number; he stood with folded his arms across his chest, amused with how my face fell.

“A condition?” I repeated, hands on my hips. Sam nodded once curtly. “What kind of condition?” 

The corners of his mouth upturned in a wicked smile, revealing a set of white teeth. Uh oh. That look was never good. I knew that look - not very well, mind you, but I knew Sam Wilson well enough to know that particular look meant trouble. 

“I get to pick a date for you.” 

I waved a hand in dismissal, dropping my phone back into my bag. “So not happening.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” He laughed, walking back around the bag and preparing his stance. 

“I don’t need a date,” I argued, hands running over the leather. “This isn’t about my love life.”

“Oh, but you can pry into mine?” 

I rolled my eyes, gazing up at the high ceiling with a petulant sigh. “I’m your nosy neighbour. It’s kinda my job, Sammy.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the way his face twisted; he was quiet for a few moments, contently distracting himself with the bag in front of him. After I let him beat it out, I looked around the bag, “C’mon, really?”

“Really- _ really _ .” 

I inhaled deeply in contemplation, wondering who Sam could possibly have in mind. Then, I wondered if he even really  _ had  _ someone. If he did, then I would be stuck sitting at a table for four with my coworker, my neighbour, and my neighbour’s idea of ‘payback’. 

But, if he was bluffing, he was doing so in hopes I would reject his condition and drop the subject entirely. 

Fat chance. 

“Fine,” I let out suddenly, interrupting his set.

His chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took, sweat beading across his forehead and the back of his neck. Defeated, he nodded and held his hands up, “Fine.”

“Great,” I replied tight lipped, swallowing thickly as my stomach rolled nervously. That was a bad idea. “Who’d you have in mind?” I questioned, secretly hoping he didn’t have any brothers. My mind flashed with an image of Steve, from his dazzling smile all the way to the subtle curve of his ass. 

_ Head out of the gutter, Lys.  _

“Don’t worry, Lys. I know you.” I casted a dubious look in Sam’s direction, following his actions to rip the tape from my hands. “Trust me.” 

“You know me? That’s rich,” I laughed, taking a hearty swig from my water bottle, “How’d you figure that out?”

This time, it was Sam who laughed when he replied, “Is it really all that surprising to you? Given the field I work in and who I work with?” 

I supposed not, when he put it that way. 

“Lysandra Lillian,” he started, speaking clearly and loudly as he switched his sneakers, “Born April of nineteen-ninety, daughter to Rosalie and Leonard Lillian, and elder sister to Lola; you’ve broken twenty-seven bones in total, were an honours student up until your last year of college but that was mostly because your dad got really sick, and became a business owner despite the fact you have a degree in the Arts.” 

“Superficial,” I narrowed my eyes into a glare. I wondered when he decided he wanted to know about me, and when he took those matters into his own hands. Had he done it when he first met me? Was he simply curious? “You could get most of that off my Facebook profile - and, I’m pretty sure I told you all of that.”

Sam shook his head, “That’s where you’re wrong. SHIELD’s database has the low down on everyone everywhere. I know that you were in a car accident two years ago, and that you should be dead. Nobody knows how you’re alive; the doctor’s sure as hell couldn’t explain it. So they call you a medical miracle,” he sighed, clasping his hands together in front of him as he stood in front of me. “And I know that you live with guilt everyday, thinking you were the one responsible for driving that car off the bridge. That’s not a way to live life, Lys,” 

I turned away from him, partly stunned that he new so much about the accident. I hadn’t told him how, or when, but just that I was in a wreck. 

“C’mon, finish your set, and then I’ll make caesars. We can drink on the porch.” 

Not feeling as though I could really argue, I returned to my place on the mat. After another hour of sweating, sweating, and more sweating, we strolled back towards the house and sought after the shaded steps of his front porch. We drank until the sky turned into a dusty pink, indicating the beginning of a sunset that would seem to last forever; I proposed grilled burgers, to which Sam happily agreed, his stomach growling hungrily in return. We didn’t have the buns, so he asked Steve if he was free. 

Conveniently, the super soldier had just finished up his day and was heading home for something to snack on. Within the next forty minutes, Steve had parked his bike right outside my front door and joined us on the stairs with a beer in hand. 

I knew he was never affected by any alcohol he consumed, mostly that he just liked to drink for the taste. Somewhere close to a year ago, he had hated sipping on dark bourbon and rum, and only recently started grabbing a boozy beverage in place of his usual coffee or water. 

We drank until the moon was perched high in the sky, its crescent curve so vividly outlined, the stars surrounding it gleamed against the purpled hue of the sky. I thought about all of the creatures and planets that existed in the galaxy - those we knew, and those we hadn’t even begun to imagine. Aliens -- space monsters, whatever you wanted to call them, definitely did exist. I was sure there were thousands more. 

When Sam retired for the night, leaving Steve and I alone on the porch, I finally turned to look at him. He was gazing up at the stars, just the same as I had been, only the divot between his brows was more prominent as he pulled them together. His jaw had hardened, and although the rest of him appeared to be angry, his eyes were hollow with sadness. 

“Steve?” I didn’t try to speak any louder than a whisper, worried I might trigger something in him. “You feeling okay?” 

“Are you really gonna go on that date tomorrow?” He asked, turning to me with a knowing look. “Because I don’t think you are, and I don’t think you should lie to Sam about it.” 

I blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Steve’s eyes glimmered with amusement, “You really think he believes you’re not going to try to bail out on him at the last second?” 

“Do you believe that?” My brows lifted in question, eyes cutting so sharply to his, daring him to even consider. 

He watched me for a moment, taking in all of my expression, carefully reading my glare before he shrugged, “I believe that you hate not being in control of your life, so I figured a blind date was definitely off the table.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Since the accident, I started to become obsessive over the idea of trying to attain complete control of my life. I didn’t like taking orders, I didn’t like being told what to do, and well … yeah. Sam and Steve were right. God, I hated when they were right.

“Listen,” I turned to him fully, finishing the last of my beer to add to the pile of empties in Sam’s blue bin, “I’ve never been the kind of person to seize opportunities. I’m not interested in short term  _ flings _ , or no strings attached. I need consistency.” Our knees were touching, and even through his denim I could feel his radiating warmth. I swallowed thickly, returning my gaze to the starry sky, “I’m still young, and I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now. So no, blind dates are definitely off the table.” 

“And you expect whoever this guy is to be looking for something no strings attached?” 

I laughed once, shaking my head as I wrapped my arms around myself. “To be honest, I don’t think there’s a guy.”

Steve looked puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I don’t think Sam has anyone to bring. If I were to show up, I’d be stuck third-wheeling with a forty year old and his date.” 

He laughed gently at the thought. “And if there is a guy?” 

I sighed, pausing briefly. I wasn’t sure what I would do if there was. I suppose that would depend on the who. “If there was a guy, and if I was to show …” Steve watched me patiently, energy so calming I felt less guilty about saying the next part. “It would be a tasty dinner and some conversation. That’s it. There are no drinks, there’s no intimacy — God, could you even imagine?” So unlike me. Not that I was a prude, just the thought of being someone that longed for physical contact bothered me. 

People treated people like they were a drug. Things like sex become so wildly underrated and devalued by people simply looking for affirmation in strangers, for some trauma they should’ve seeked professional help for years ago. 

No. I had already been down that road once or twice. During one of my lowest of lows, I had grown an incessant need for validation, in a time where I felt so terribly guilty for an accident I continued to claim to cause, and for life I took. 

So yeah, some nights, I looked in the mirror and believed I was a murderer. Some nights I still do, but they happen less often now. But too many times had I fallen into the cycle of meeting some random from Tinder, thinking one of two things would likely either happen. 

I would either a) get fucked, which was wholly satisfying all on its own. Or b) get fucked, and then be killed. Both were totally fine with me, but it just so happened that there were less creeps in Brooklyn than I thought. 

“A tasty dinner and some conversation doesn’t sound like it could hurt, does it?” He tried to reason, pulling his arms out from the sleeves of his jacket; he then offered it to me, smile encouraging. 

“Thanks.” I whispered, slipping my arms into the warmth. I hadn’t noticed when the temperature outside had dropped, but it certainly wasn’t tank top appropriate. “And what if I go and … actually like this guy.” 

Steve blinked quickly, a sudden realization coming forth to him. “Does that scare you?”

I went to give him a response, but my mouth felt dry. Instead, I reached for the last bottle left in the cooler and twisted the tab off. From my peripheral, I could see his lips twitch, threatening to reveal a triumphant smile but he just continued staring. 

It was a while before he said anything, and when he did, I noticed his voice was much softer. “Go on the date, Lys.” 

  
  
  


 

I spent most of Sunday considering the pro’s and con’s of going on this double date. Mindlessly working through the motions of my day, from washing my hair and brushing my teeth, to folding my laundry and making my tea. The bad definitely outweighed the good, but there was the one singular possibility that kept reeling me back in: 

Steve  _ might  _ be my date. 

I hadn’t considered it before. I figured Sam didn’t really have anyone in mind, and was going to show up with someone last minute (or even more horrifying, not show up with anyone at all). But then after last night, I wondered if maybe ---

_ You’re crazy. That’s the psycho fangirl in you talking.  _

I groaned outwardly, shovelling another spoonful of the edible cookie dough into my mouth. I had been so content in my slice of paradise, unbothered by the outside world, entirely immersed in my contemplation that when a deafening ringing blasted from the kitchen, I nearly screamed. It sounded like a phone, with a super retro ringtone. Abandoning my spoon and place on the sofa, I wandered over to where the sound grew louder, straining my ear to hear exactly which direction it was coming from. 

After some digging under a stack of papers in a drawer, I pulled out silver Nokia. It wasn’t bedazzled, so it hadn’t previously belonged to Lola, and I couldn’t remember a time when I had ever owned a  _ flip phone _ . Where the hell did this come from? It had stopped ringing by the time I found it, but within thirty seconds it began to ring again; hesitantly, I flipped it open and pressed talk. 

“Hello?” 

“Lys, hey! You weren’t answering your cell,” Sam’s smug tone came in through the other end; I rolled my eyes and sunk into one of the kitchen chairs. 

“What the hell is this phone doing in my house?” 

“I left it in case of emergencies.” 

Left? More like hid. “And?” I asked, resting my head on the table. “ _ Is _ there an emergency.” 

“Yes. You weren’t answering your cell phone.” 

I glared at the table top, “That’s not an emergency, Sam. I have a massive migraine --”

“Oh, so that wasn’t you jamming along to Britney Spears half an hour ago?” I paused, but that was long enough for Sam to call my bluff, “You’re not doing this. If I have to go, you have to go, and your friend is gonna be pissed when I don’t show because her friends is a poor sport.” 

“Sam, seriously, just go on the date.” 

“Lysandra,  _ seriously _ , just go on the date.” He mimicked. 

I looked over to where my back step creaked, shadowed figure perched on the top step. I braced my hand on the knob slowly, twisting it until it clicked and gave way, pulling it open to reveal Sam’s frame in the doorway. He looked good. Actually, better than good. He looked  _ hot _ . His suit was tailored just tightly enough to gently trace the outlines of his arms and shoulders, his face was freshly shaven. 

“ _ This _ doesn’t look like you’re ready.” He gestured to my figure, starting from the top of my head, finishing at my toes while he dropped his phone from his ear. “Go get ready. I’m not playin’.”

“Oh, like  _ hell  _ you're going to show up and try to tell me what to do.” 

“Oh,  _ yes I am _ ,” he spit back, stepping into the house to close the door behind him. “It’s one night. We can make it a solid three hours tops. Appetizer. Entree. Dessert — and I’ll even make the dessert to go. But if you want me to go out looking like this,” he grazed his hand down the length of his body, “you’re gonna have to march your ass upstairs and put some hustle in, because our reservation is in less than an hour.” 

I rolled my eyes, coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to be able to escape this — not without hurting Maggie’s feelings. And, I liked her, so that very well couldn’t be the outcome of tonight. Not when she had practically screamed with joy when I mentioned it to her this morning; she cleared her entire day to get ready for it. It was sweet, really. The thought of having it for someone so bad you abandon all other responsibilities to primp yourself for an evening in their presence. I stormed past the living room to the stairs by the front door, retreating to my bathroom in search of my curling iron and makeup bag. 

“You’re eating raw cookie dough?” Sam called up the stairs, his voice sounding entirely offended. “At six in the evening? That isn’t healthy, Lys!” 

“I’m twenty-four, Sam. What’s bad for you isn’t necessarily bad for me.” I replied, dividing my hair into sections whilst my moisturizer set in.

“Uh,” he laughed, “yeah, it is. Believe me. Your body will thank me in ten years.” It went on like that until I was finished. Sam sat on my couch, critiquing my eating habits, music taste and movie selection. I feared he would move onto the paintings on the wall next, so I decided against struggling with a strappy pair of heels and slipped into a simple pair of pumps instead. 

The dress wasn’t mine, nor were the earrings. I guess I had my not-so-little sister to thank for her impeccable taste in clothing. The gown shimmered with every turn I took, midnight blue hues adding just the right touch of colour; it hugged my frame loosely, accentuating what curves I did have subtly. 

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Sam was there waiting; he watched me turn in a sort of ‘ta-da’ fashion, and nodded in approval. “Very classy.” 

“It was Lola’s,” I replied with a sigh, reaching for my phone to throw into my purse. Nothing I had in my closet was longer than my fingertips, and don’t leave very much up to the imagination. “We’re late?” 

“We’re late, but my guy thinks he found your girl, so there’s no rush.” He was trying not to gloat too much that he had successfully gotten me from my pajamas and into heels; I was pushing past all of that for the sake of my friend. Maggie would be a thousand times happier tomorrow morning, and I couldn’t wait to see her beaming smile. 

“Best not to keep them waiting, then,” I gestured to the door, following behind him as he led me towards his two-door Charger. Sam drove with zero regard for the rules of the road, leaving me just slightly on edge by the time we arrived to the parking lot of the restaurant. Each sharp turn flipped my stomach unpleasantly, and I couldn’t tell if that was because I was moving too fast for my liking, or if I was simply just nervous. 

Well, whatever it was, it wasn’t settling well with my body.  It wasn’t until I stepped out of the vehicle and gaped for large breaths of air that Sam realized my residual anxiety. 

“Oh my _ god, _ are you okay?” He rushed over to my side, placing an hand on my back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think --”

I held up a hand, silencing him. “I’m fine.” I hissed, bracing a hand on the door to keep myself steady. I took a few more deep inhales, silently reminding myself that I was alright, I was okay, and that I was standing on my own two feet. I repeated it like a mantra inside my head until I was sure I wasn’t going to vomit all over Sam’s shoes; turning on my heels, I faced him with a forced smile and adjusted my hair. 

He approached me cautiously, obviously worried that I might do something out of the blue like puke all over his shoes, or even worse, fall flat on my face unconscious. This was the first time I noticed that he had a small bouquet of flowers in hand; a mixed arrangement, nothing too over the top, and entirely appropriate given the situation.

With that lingering thought shoved in rear of my head, we walked in sync towards the front door; though I was sure he’d never admit it, I could feel that his anxiety was nearly (but not quite) as high as mine -- it looks like Sam didn’t do blind dates, either. 

I wondered why that was, and made note to ask him about it later. 

Taking one final cleansing breath, we entered the main dining area; my eyes immediately began to search over the crowd, seeking out Maggie’s wild hair and gorgeous smile. 

I was surprised to find her sitting at the bar, with a drink in hand; next to her, a gentleman holding a rather large bundle of flowers was perched on his own stool. I drank in his figure, starting at the very crown of his head and worked my way down to his toes. He had very blond hair, very blue eyes, and perhaps the most incredible smile I had ever seen. 

He definitely wasn’t Steve. 


	4. a pleasant surprise

I was going to kill Samuel Wilson. 

This weekend had started out very simply; I was hoping to meddle where I shouldn’t, trying to play matchmaker for a pair of people I felt were so perfect for each other they didn’t even know it, and it physically hurt how blind they were to each others advances. But in spite of my good deeds and effort, I was being punished. 

And, I was only viewing the added condition as a punishment because I truly believed that Sam had been bluffing -- it was obvious now that he was not, and I felt like a fool for not taking him more seriously. Because the man he had selected for me wasn’t even a man at all. 

He was a God. A goddamn God. One I had read stories about, and had grown up fantasizing that he was real, playing make believe and wielding weapons ( _ garden tools _ ) of my own destruction. 

_ Maybe you’re not as crazy as you think you are.  _

And he was a God, who’s eyes had barely left from mine since I entered the venue. He had greeted me with a gruff ‘ _ m’lady _ ’; followed by a gentle kiss pressed to my hand, and an exchange of flowers. The bouquet he handed to me was vibrant and was flourishing, the array of pinks and oranges simply breathtaking with their heavy scent. All of the leftover anxiety regarding sitting through dinner with someone I couldn’t stand had been quickly replaced with anxiety regarding sitting through dinner with someone I wouldn’t have dreamed would even look twice in my direction. 

His pretty blond hair was down freely, a few sparse braids hidden within the golden hues, making the cyan in his eyes come forth more vividly. He certainly looked like a God. He was huge, and that was saying something given that Steve was also someone I considered to be fairly big. He had an energy emitting from his frame that was so pure and raw, something I had never felt before, but it intrigued me. 

He radiated a wholesomeness I didn’t believe still existed. 

I had gathered quite a bit of information about my date since we first sat down at our table for the evening. It would have been hard not too. It wasn’t often I was in the presence of a God, let alone on a date with one, so I was dutifully hanging off his every word. He introduced himself to Maggie and I as Thor; he didn’t reside here on earth, but rather on his home planet and came down to Midgard ( _ his word choice, not mine _ ) whenever his help was necessary. 

I watched him closely, trying to decipher if there were any differences between he and Sam; from what I could tell, he was as much like any other human. Two legs, two arms, and a rather large appetite for carbs. While he didn’t look like he came from another planet, he certainly spoke as though he came from a different time, but that was also part of my sparked interest. 

I wasn’t going to tell Sam that, though. 

As our entrees were set down in front of us, I glanced over my glass of wine to where Maggie and Sam were leaning into each others ears, appetites clearly not a priority. When I lifted my gaze to Thor’s again, I noticed he was already staring at me. Quite unashamedly, too, even once I had caught him. He was polite enough to ask questions in between bites of his meal, and I could tell it was taking a lot of restraint not to inhale the chicken sitting on his plate. 

“Are you feeling unwell?” Thor’s voice broke me from my trance, bringing me back into the present moment. It wasn’t until then that I noticed he had braced a hand on my thigh, and that the warmth of his palm was searing through the material of my gown. “You’ve barely touched your meal.”

Sam casted a knowing look my way; I thought to the tub of raw cookie dough waiting for me in my fridge. I shook my head quickly, making a point to stab one of the noodles with the fork and lifted it to my mouth. “I had a late lunch, that’s all.” 

He seemed satisfied with my answer, returning his attention to his plate in front of him. “So, Sam tells me you’re a baker.” 

“Yes. Well, mostly just donuts.” I amended, sitting back in my chair with my drink. “But they’re pretty good donuts.” 

“Right. You work at Lola’s.” He smiled; a detail he was pleased he had remembered. 

“I own Lola’s,” I corrected again, but smiled along with him. “You know where it is?”

Thor lifted his shoulders in a half shrug, joining me in leaning back in his seat, pint of beer in hand. “I tend to be in this area whenever I’m in town. I’ve walked past it a few times.” 

“And you never stop in?” I questioned, feigning offence to the idea that his tall, handsome, broad-shouldered God had never once stepped foot into a shoppe that was geared towards those with sweet tooths. Given his physique, I had doubts he put anything ‘sweet’ into his body. 

His eyes suddenly appeared weary, the crinkle around them disappearing as his smile turned sad with his reply, “Up until recently, I tried to keep my distance from the things that I love in an effort to spare them from a horrible fate.” His jaw hardened as he looked forward; I looked over at Sam and Maggie, both already staring back at me in confusion. After a moment of silence, Thor continued, “The donuts, I mean.” 

“I already told you, man,” Sam leaned forward, shoulders relaxed and smile just the slight bit past tipsy, “Come in with Stevie and I the next time you come to train. After you’re done kicking my ass you can reward yourself with a donut.” 

I did a double take, curiously looking up at my date, “Wait, were you the friend who was with them earlier this week?” I thought I had recognized those beautiful eyes from somewhere … 

“Guilty,” he nodded weakly, looking sideways with a small bout of shame crossing his features. I placed a hand on his arm, mumbling under my breath that it was alright -- Sam was really the one giving him a hard time about it, anyway. 

The end of Sam’s suggested three hour window period was coming to a regrettable end; Maggie was practically bouncing in her seat when Sam excused himself to the mens room. “This is  _ perfect _ ,” she sighed, placing a hand on her chest. Thor looked between the two of us, curiosity igniting his eyes. “I wasn’t so sure this was going to go smoothly, but this isn’t awkward  _ at all _ .” 

“Well, Sam’s notorious for the small talk,” I quipped, remembering how often he had engaged in said small talk before he was able to convince me to step down from my stool and let him help bring me home. “Looks like it’s not over yet?” I questioned when I realized Sam was returning with their jackets; she smiled sheepishly, leaning forward to wrap her arms around me in a tight hug. 

“He’s taking me dancing,” she mused happily, squeezing my shoulders tightly. “Thank you again, you really didn’t have to do this but I’m  _ so  _ glad you did!”

“Just doing my job,” I chuckled in response, sitting down in my seat beside Thor; he waited for me patiently, his eyes trailing over my arms and hands as I tidied and stacked the plates, not caring for the numerous glances of those around us.

“Will you be joining your friends, or can I interest you one of our desserts?” I looked up at the waitress that stood on the other side of the table; it sounded like she was speaking to both of us, but her eyes were glued to Thor. I could have been wearing a clown nose or a crown, I don’t suppose it would’ve mattered. 

I assumed she was melting on the inside, one part because she wasn’t hiding it very well, one part because I was, too. I hadn’t known what to expect when I agreed to coming, but I was certainly happy I had. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, the idea of some redheaded waitress coming along trying to not-so-subtly flirt  _ my  _ God was not going to fly with me.

Thor’s eyes scanned the menu in his hand again, before he looked over to where I sat and tilted it my way. “What do you think, hm? Would you like anything sweet?” 

There was an intense current that ran down my spine, igniting my veins; momentarily, I felt light-headed and dizzy, worried that this might be the end to what was turning out to be a great date. I pursed my lips, thinking about the shoppe that hugged the street corner a few blocks over; I plucked the menu from his fingertips, folding it neatly and handing it back to our waitress -- Marissa -- and flashed my best smile, “No, we’ll just take the bill.” 

Marissa finally removed her eyes from the man sitting next to me, drinking in my features with a slight grimace pinching her red lips together tightly. “The bills? Sure.” 

“Just one,” Thor clarified quickly, shooting her another one of his dazzling smiles. Marissa nodded slowly, trying her best to keep the disappointment and fluster from her face as she retreated towards the bar, disappearing into the kitchen. “You’re not a fan of dessert?” Thor questioned once she was out of earshot, draping an arm lazily across the back of my chair.

“I am,” I finished the remainder of my wine, turning my body in my seat slightly so that we were facing each other. “But I figured we could take this opportunity to head down to the shoppe and bake something fresh instead, if you’d like.”

Thor’s brows lifted at the suggestion, and I was thankful he seemed willing. It seemed like a great idea until it left my mouth, and then I wondered if he found it amusing that I owned something as mundane as a donut shoppe. 

Once we had cleared the bill, he helped me into my jacket and we made our way from La Nonna down the boulevard, heading towards the large lavender sign hanging in the distance. Thor’s presence next to me during the walk didn’t go unnoticed; his frame still radiated the same warmth and joy it had when I first arrived in the evening, which I took as a good sign. 

I wanted to kick myself for not being more excited about how much of a good time I was having. Not wanting to squander any more of the evening we had together, I started racking my brain for questions I could be asking to fill the silence.

Not that he seemed to mind the silence. 

I wondered if part of why this night was going as well as it had was because he was okay with the empty spaces between conversation. Then, I cringed, thinking about how overly interested conversation I had been during the appetizer portion of our evening. 

“Okay, so because I’m curious, we’re going to a do a rapid fire,” I said out of nowhere, happy that he seemed to be anticipating my words. 

“Rapid fire?” 

“Oh, erm,” I retracted, stretching my legs out to keep up with his strides. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions and you’re not going to think too hard about the answers to them, okay?”

“Questions? About what?” Thor’s brows drew together in the middle, creating a small divot in his forehead. He noticed that I was struggling to keep up with his lengthy strides and slowed his pace to match mine.

I smiled, linking my arm through his as we waited for the light to turn. “About you. And, I’ll even let you ask me some to make it fair.”

Thor peered sideways at where our arms linked together; I could feel the flush of heat rush into my cheeks, but I attempted to keep it hidden by watching the sidewalk in front of me, stepping over each and every crack. 

“Are you a morning or a night person?” 

He hummed in thought, then shrugged, “I do not favour one over the other. I enjoy the sun’s warmth just as much as I love the moon’s beauty.” 

I kept my amusement to myself, accepting the answer, “Alright. No preference,” I pondered again for a moment, wondering what else I could possibly want to know about the God. 

“Is it my turn?” He questioned, looking to me for confirmation.

“If you want.” I shrugged.

He smiled, taking in all of the cars driving past us as he thought. “Are you a morning or a night person?”

I laughed, not entirely expecting him to come up empty handed. “Definitely a night person.” 

“Why?”

“One question at a time,” his smile grew sheepish, eyes pleading as we came to a stop. I pulled my keys from my purse, singling out the one for the shoppe’s door while I responded, “I guess it’s been that way for a while now. I can never seem to fall asleep, so I spend a lot of my time on Sam’s front step.” 

“Sam,” Thor repeated, pausing briefly in the doorway with a puzzled expression adoring his features. “He’s a good friend to you, right?” 

“Who, Sam?” When the God nodded once, I held open the door and invited him in. “He’s a very good friend. I can’t imagine where’d I’d be without him, actually.” I didn’t give the man enough credit. My business stayed intact because he and Steve were as encouraging and supportive as they were. During my time of grievance and loss, Sam had shown me kindness and patience I felt I was undeserving of. It’s still very much a work in progress, but day by day I was getting better at accepting my life for what it was. The boys helped with that in their own ways.

“Good.” Thor’s lips lifted into another smile. “He cares for you, you know. Steve as well.” 

I allowed for a small smile in return, guiding him into the back, “That’s comforting to know. Some days it can be hard to tell.” 

“You needn’t worry, love. You’re important to them, and therefore important to the rest of the team.” I gawked at how sincere he sounded, flipping on the lights in the back. He spoke as though there was still a team that existed. As if he could read my mind, he continued, “This pissing match, as you would call it, will carry on for however long they deem necessary. But they will need each other in due time.”

“You sound so sure,” I mused, pulling my hair away from my face to secure with one of the hair ties I left laying around my office. “Have they always had their differences?” 

Thor stood next to me, leaning against the counter with a far-away look in his eyes. “I believe each of them wants the best for their world -- they just happen to have different ideas of how that  _ should  _ be attained. You see, Tony … sometimes when he speaks, he reminds me of how I used to be. Wanting to show a line of defense by charging into battle and creating wars not necessary; he has good intentions at heart, I truly do believe that, but everyone can see that it’s not practical. I certainly know what good comes of it.” His voice was grim as he trailed off, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. 

“Sounds like you, hm? Do I need to be worried?” I teased, playfully bumping his hip with mine. 

The man laughed, “Fear not, I have long overcome such ways. I think you’ll find me to be quite the gentleman.” 

I couldn’t resist smiling at his words; there was such pride hidden beneath them, and I could tell by the expression painted on his features that he was being sincere. “Consider me convinced.” 

Thor was eager to learn, hands ready and eyes drinking in all of my actions, mimicking the steps, asking for confirmation and reassurance when necessary. It was a lot more fun than I remembered, teaching someone how to properly craft a donut. 

“Is this alright?” He asked, voice uncertain. I glanced over to where his hands expertly kneaded the dough, nodding in confirmation. Thor worked quietly alongside me, humming to himself every so often, large fingers working with impeccable dexterity given that he could likely fit three of the baked rings onto one of his long fingers. 

The longer I watched the veins in his arms move with every roll and push, the hotter and thicker the air around us grew; perhaps it was just the heat radiating from the oven I had started not too long ago, but I didn’t doubt that it was mostly me. After I managed to get my footing again, and started going to meetings to help get me through the day, I took a silence vow to never allow myself to fall back into old habits. That meant I had kept a substantial distance from all things male; it wasn’t so much the alcohol that had been the problem, as much as it had been validation and attention. 

It had made me vulnerable. Those who were lost and alone were usually the easiest to pick out in a bar full of people; I wondered how many times the dangers of alcohol had put me in harms way, and I wondered how many times Sam had to intervene before it could even happen. 

I got lucky.  I considered Sam to be a guardian angel of sorts, and in some ways, believed that it was Lola trying to keep her eye on me. I knew that wasn’t physically possible, but as crazy as it sounded, I felt as though there was something bigger than Sam working in my favour. No matter what was thrown at me, no matter what tragedy came next, I was always somehow the only one to make it out on the other side. 

Once I secured the last batch into the oven, I turned wiped my hands on the front of my apron and let out a sigh of relief, turning to find the kitchen empty. It wasn’t as though he had wandered very far, but I was still surprised to find him standing, shoulders relaxed as he looked out the window; the gentle patter of rain hit the glass, and from the safety of our warmth, Thor and I watched as pedestrians sprinted through the weather seeking cover. Groups huddled together under awnings and bus shelters, narrowly avoiding getting hit by passing cars splashing the muddy water up over their legs. 

“It’s very peaceful.” Thor mused after a moment, sitting himself down in one of the booths, sliding over enough for me to join him at his side. “Do you enjoy the rain?”

I followed his gaze, eyes glued to the trickling droplets rolling down the window, “I do.” I replied absently, rubbing my arms as a cool draft sent shivers along my spine. 

Thor seemed to notice this. Although his reaction was immediate and with good intention, it caught me off guard. He slipped one of his arms around my waist, closing the six inch gap between us by pulling me into his side more comfortably. It felt hot, even through the material covering my body, but I couldn’t complain. 

Hesitantly, I wrapped my arm under his and smoothed my hand over the back of his; he opened his palm face-up in response. I smiled at the gesture and slid my fingers between his. 

“Tell me more about your life here.” I met his eyes, their icy hue piercing straight into my soul. Moments like this, when our eyes met with this intensity, sparked some resonating feeling of familiarity. 

Whatever it was, I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t explain how it felt like I had been sitting next to his soul for years. I couldn’t explain the current that jolted each time his skin brushed against mine, or how my veins felt like they were lit with a searing fire that could only be tamed by his voice. It was odd how just in the last few hours, I felt less like the version of myself I had come to be. 

“What would you like to know?” I asked, resting my frame against his, relishing in his warmth. 

“Everything.”

I swallowed, willing my body to relax as I sunk deeper into his side. “Okay. I’m an orphan. The rest of my immediate family is dead, but I have two uncles on my dad’s side that live in Ohio.” Thor nodded in understanding, meeting my gaze again with a patience I had never seen in a man before. “My mom died when I was really young, so I don’t know all too much about her other than whatever my dad told me, and he ended up passing away a few years ago.”

The God’s mouth tugged into a frown, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Cancer doesn’t discriminate, I guess.” 

He was silent for a moment, returning his eyes to the bustling city on the other side of the glass, “And your sister?”

I hadn’t mentioned a sister to him, but I brushed it off, assuming Sam had briefed him. “Lola died two years ago during an accident I caused,” I was always blunt about the accident. I didn’t dance around the topic, not like other people had. I surprised myself the first day I managed to drive without triggering any residual anxiety. There was no looming fear that I was a danger to myself -- I had always been a danger to myself. I suppose that my willingness to die played a part in some part of the recovery my therapist found  _ ‘incredible’ _ , given the trauma I had endured. “I veered off the road for an animal, went through the bridge and into a lake.”

“And you blame yourself?”

I looked down at our hands to where his thumb smoothed over the skin of my knuckles. “Everyone knows you’re not supposed to swerve to miss the animal.” 

Thor blinked, the divot between his brows returning as they meshed together. “It sounds like you were trying to do the right thing. You shouldn’t hold yourself accountable for that.”

He was sweet. 

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it? Can you enlighten me on the ‘how’?”

His fingers squeezed mine encouragingly. A shaky sigh slipped its way past my lips, a quiet whisper in the silent shoppe. “She never wanted any of this.” I gestured to the floor, the walls, the booths. Thor seemed to understood what I meant. “She wanted to graduate, get the hell out of town and away from this family. I wasn’t sure why she wanted to run. Never made much sense to me, but maybe that was because I found happiness where she hadn’t. 

I think Lola felt stuck. Before he died, our dad was very … overprotective of the two of us, and in some ways, I think she found it to be more of a bother than a help. It was only after he died that she decided not to move -- and I think that was mostly because she knew I needed her.” She stayed in Brooklyn to look after me. Even though I was older, even though I had kissed her bruises and scraped knees growing up, Lola had been my keeper. She was more than just my sister. She had been my best friend, my rock, my person. 

“You’re very lucky to have survived.” Thor commented after a while, not wanting to startle me in my silence. His voice was much softer now, soothing in its deep rumble.

“I don’t know if I’d call it luck.” 

It didn’t seem to matter what tone I said it in, it always made people come to a full stop. The man next to me held his breath for a heartbeat; I momentarily worried I had overstepped a boundary. Sam had mentioned on numerous occasions that my nonchalant explanation of the incident was seriously off putting for some people. They expected a trauma. They expected an opinion. Most people were surprised that I spoke as openly as I did. “I’m very grateful to have the privilege of knowing you.” 

Our frames remained glued to the booth for what felt like several hours; I wandered into the back room to retrieve the batch of donuts from the oven, and once we were seated with shakes and our desert between us, we picked up where we had left off earlier in the evening. 

Hours passed. 

When I say hours, I mean hours. We discussed all life on earth, nonsensical things, he even promised to come see me again the next time he was ‘in town’ (it was easier to say that then to remind me that he lived on an entirely different planet). I hadn’t noticed that it past midnight until I noticed the moon shining out from behind the clouds; for the first time all evening, the sky had cleared enough for us to gaze up into its vast beauty --

And then it all came crashing down. The dreadful reminder that was nagging me from the back of my brain forced me to bring the night to a regrettable end. Being a responsible adult was so tedious. I looked up at him apologetically, to which he brought a hand up to gently caress my cheek. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t be keeping you from a good night's rest, anyhow.”

I nearly told him that wouldn’t be the case, regardless. I hadn’t gotten what felt like a solid eight hour sleep in years. “Walk me home?”

Thor’s lips stretched across his teeth, smoothing his hands down the length of my arms before he squeezed my fingers, “Of course.” 

He walked on the side closest to the street, proving himself to be the gentleman others claimed him to be, and made an effort to avoid puddles for the sake of my feet still wrapped in death traps. Even with my jacket pulled tightly around my frame, it was hard to evade the bitter nip in the air; by the time we reached the front steps to my door, my ears and cheeks were painted in a deep red. 

Thor, on the other hand, looked perfectly content in his maroon overcoat and button down. Damn celestial must. Must not get cold. 

Must be lucky. 

“You should hurry inside, Miss Lysandra, your lips are quivering.” Brows drawn together, he reached forward to drag his thumb across my bottom lip. There it was again. Another spark. A current of electricity left in the wake of his touch. Something so simple and so innocent left me teetering on edge;  _ oh, Lys. What are you doing?  _

His eyes are searching my faces, lingering on the details of my brows, cheekbones and jaw. As though he were memorizing every feature. And when the icy hues finally landed on mine, they softened with his smile; he leaned forward to press his lips to the crown of my head, inhaling deeply whilst holding me to his chest. And I decided right then and there that I would have been perfectly content to hug him for the rest of my life. He was sinfully warm and smelled delicious, thick with a heavy scent I couldn’t quite place my finger on. 

“You’ll come back soon?” I asked again, cringing internally when I could hear how eager I sounded. 

Thor hummed in slight amusement, but I could feel his head nod above mine. “I give you my word, my lady.” 

I couldn’t help but grin. The term was growing on me. Even if I had only just met him, it felt as though I knew him. There was something inside of him that seemed to understand me in a way that was surprising, even to me, and it was hard to catch me off guard. Six hours later, I was sad to see that he looked as reluctant as I felt about saying goodbye for now.

He closed his eyes, shoulders dropping with his exhale. 

“Sooner rather than later, would be preferable.” 

Thor searched my face again, only this time, he was looking for a sign that I was being insincere. He couldn’t find any. 

“Soon.” He nodded once firmly, pushing the bangs from my face. “Until then, take care of yourself.” He pulled a single flower from beneath my hair, I assumed with what could only be magic, given there was no garden he could have swiped to from on our way from the shoppe. 

I gazed at him with astonishment as I took it between my fingertips, lifting it’s red waxen petals to my nose to inhale it’s scent deeply. I almost didn’t realize he had started to back away. “Goodnight!” I called to him, hating that I felt like a giddy high-school girl with a crush again. It was like I was eighteen all over.  _ Eighteen, and still staring at guy’s asses…  _

“It must have been.” The voice came from nowhere, startling me from my trance. My hand flew up to my chest, heart rapidly beating against my ribcage. 

I turned, glaring down at Sam’s frame as he waltzed past me to his own steps. “Don’t fuckin’ do that!” I whined, pulling my keys from my purse. I looked over the railing, seeing him fumbling with his own keys. Then, I realized that I was just past one in the morning, and he was just getting home. “I guess you had a good time, huh?”

Sam paused, looking sideways at me, attempting to conceal his smile. He then looks down at his watch, pretending to check the time, “It’s pretty late to be getting home from a blind date you didn’t even wanna be on, don’t you think?”

I rolled my eyes, shoving my key into the lock to twist it open. “You’re a royal pain.” 

“You should trust me more often.” 

“You brought a God.” I pointed out, using my knee to keep the screen door open. “And you managed to get him to humor me for one evening.” 

Sam’s brows lifted to his hairline -- for a moment, I honestly thought they had disappeared. “Humor you? That’s what that was supposed to be?” He asked, gesturing to where Thor and I had been standing five minutes earlier. 

“Yes.” I said indignantly. 

Sam chuckled again, chin dropping to his chest as he unlocked his door and pushed it open. “Goodnight, Lys.” 

I watched him disappear behind the closed door. I sighed, looking off down the sidewalk where Thor had went, then up at the moon that still hung brightly in the starry sky. “Night, Sammy.” I whispered in response, leaving the day and its events on the other side of the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello all! this is my first time writing for the mcu ever, and I'm super excited about it. I've been planning this mini series for a while, so I'm hoping to have at the very least this book finished by the time summer starts! feedback is always appreciated, as well as any constructive criticism :) thanks for reading!


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